Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(23)

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Drowning of the Northlands most likely early spring, 315 NE.



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Jacos: I understand you played no small part in recent events, particularly those surrounding Mare Barrow.

Mr. Whistle: Wasn’t much of anything. Girl’s a good thief. I used to sell off what she lifted, take a little for my troubles.

Jacos: You also introduced her to General Diana Farley and the Scarlet Guard.

(Mr. Whistle narrows his eyes and shrugs.)

Jacos: It’s all right to tell me as much or as little as you like, sir. I’m simply here to get every angle.

Whistle: You know Whistle isn’t actually my last name, right? It’s a code. Guard’s not the only people around with code names, eh.

Jacos: I see.

Whistle: It’s part of a bigger operation. The Whistle network. Fences and smugglers all over the country, relaying with each other. Someone down south can move sugar, up north we got batteries, and so on. Necessary, you know, with your type running everything. How else were we supposed to survive in the cracks?

Jacos: I certainly agree with you. And the Scarlet Guard infiltrated the Whistle network early on, didn’t they?

Whistle: Infiltrated? No, they partnered with us. We helped them move, carried information, smuggled supplies and people. But we were in charge of ourselves. No one took a job they didn’t want. That was the agreement, and the Guard kept it.

Jacos: How long were you working with the Guard?

Whistle: Oh, me? Not long. Less than two years, I suppose. They move pretty quickly, that Guard. Once they set to moving.

Jacos: And before the Guard? What was life like then? I assume you’ve seen a great deal of it.

Whistle: Is that your way of saying I look old?

(Mr. Whistle laughs)

Whistle: Yes, I’ve seen my share. The good, the bad. The Stilts is better than most places. We’re no tech town, and I never had to pass through one of those, thankfully. But you still have to watch kids ripped out of their homes and marched off. Still have to see the letters come in and send a parent to their knees. I’m lucky. No kids. No family. And I had good cover. Swept the streets to keep myself employed in the eyes of any Silver who cared to look. At least no one has to do that anymore. They don’t have to worry about the army, even if they’re worrying about their next meal or the next angry Silver to come blasting through their town. Not that I’m complaining. Things were worse before the Guard, before the war. We didn’t know they could be better. We didn’t hope for it. We knew what happened to Reds who stood up. Uprisings that failed. Firebrands killed for a speech or a secret letter. There was no use in trying to change the world. It was just too big, too strong, the Silvers always better than us. No more.

Jacos: No more.

Whistle: Rise, Red as the dawn.





STEEL SCARS





THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 61 of Operation LAKER, Stage 3.

Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

Designation: RAM.

Origin: Solmary, LL.

Destination: COMMAND at REDACTED.

-Operation LAKER completed ahead of schedule, deemed successful. Canals and lock points of LAKES PERIUS, MISKIN, and NERON under control of the Scarlet Guard.

-Operatives WHIPPER and OPTIC will control LAKER moving forward, maintain close contact, open channels to MOBILE BASE and COMMAND. Stand-and-report protocol, awaiting action orders.

-Returning to TRIAL with LAMB at present.

-LAKER overview: Killed in action: D. FERRON, T. MILLS, M. PERCHER (3).

Wounded: SWIFTY, WISHBONE (2).

Silver casualty count (3): Greenwarden (1), Strongarm (1), Skin healer? (1).

Civilian casualty count: Unknown.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

“Storms ahead.”

The Colonel speaks to fill the silence. His one good eye presses to a crack in the compartment wall, fixing on the horizon. The other eye stares, though it can hardly see through a film of scarlet blood. Nothing new. His left eye has been like that for years.

I follow his gaze, peering through slats in the rattling wood. Dark clouds gather a few miles off, trying to hide behind the forested hills. In the distance, thunder rolls. I pay it no mind. I only hope the storms don’t slow the train down, forcing us to spend one second longer hidden here, beneath the false floor of a cargo car.

We don’t have time for thunderstorms or pointless conversation. I haven’t slept in two days and I have the face to prove it. I want nothing more than quiet and a few hours of rest before we make it back to the base in Trial. Luckily there’s not much to do here but lie down. I’m too tall to stand in such a space, as is the Colonel. We both have to sprawl, leaning as best we can in the dim partition. It’ll be night soon, with only darkness to keep us company.

I can’t complain about the mode of transportation. On the trip out to Solmary, we spent half the journey on a barge shipping fruit. It stalled out on Lake Neron, and most of the cargo rotted. Spent the first week of operations washing the stink from my clothes. And I’ll never forget the mess before we started Laker, in Detraon. Three days in a cattle car, only to find the Lakelander capital utterly beyond reach. Too close to the Choke and the warfront to have shoddy defenses, a truth I willingly overlooked. But I wasn’t an officer then, and it wasn’t my decision to try to infiltrate a Silver capital without adequate intelligence or support. That was the Colonel. Back then he was only a captain with the code name Ram and too much to prove, too much to fight for. I only tagged along, barely more than an oathed soldier. I had things to prove too.